Dime Novel
by WritingIsLovely
Summary: The year is 1885. Kurt Hummel is finally leaving the private school where he grew up in New York to join his uncle in Washington to discover the world outside his very sheltered existence. He's thrown into the dangers and excitement of the real world a lot faster than he imagined when the infamous outlaw Blaine Anderson is put on the same train headed to Kurt's new home.
1. Chapter 1

"Uncle? Is our journey much longer? I thought trains were much faster than this."

Kurt's uncle looked up from his newspaper, pausing to frown at the 10 cent novel in Kurt's hands. "Trains are faster than any horse-drawn carriage you've ever been in, Kurt. We're travelling far, and this train is slower than the first one from New York. It will take some time to reach your new home."

Kurt fought to keep from glaring at Uncle Thaddeus. He knew, he was painfully aware, that he was naïve and sheltered. His uncle had certainly seen to that, hadn't he? When his parents had passed so many years ago, it was Uncle Thaddeus who was put in charge of his care, and he'd enrolled him in the finest school in New York, a place for pampered high society children to be sequestered so they wouldn't bother their busy and important parents. Kurt couldn't help it that he'd known nothing but that school for twelve years. But he was a man now, just turned 18 and ready to learn more about the world. Including how fast trains went.

"Is it safe, though? To be on this train for so long, what with…the bandit also travelling this way?"

His uncle sighed and looked at him again. "Blaine Anderson may have evaded the law for a time" (That was putting it mildly, Kurt thought – the Anderson gang had run wild throughout the state for years, foiling his uncle's railway and bank plans, shooting up towns, and bedding harlots and barmaids all the while. He knew all about it from his dime novels.) "but he's just a man. And right now he's a man chained up in a train compartment with my best men and no access to any guns. He's a helpless criminal on his way to be tried and hanged."

Kurt cringed at the thought. His mind drifted back to early that morning, when they'd boarded the train, and he had shadowed Uncle Thaddeus when he'd stopped to speak to the bandit. Outlaw Blaine Anderson had looked the part – hair messy, his face covered in dark whiskers, clothes unkempt, irons around his wrists. Kurt had been surprised to note that the novels hadn't exaggerated his handsomeness. In fact, they might have undersold it. He had a steely glint in his eye when he exchanged words with his uncle, a knowing smirk on his lips at his uncle's gloating for finally having captured him. There had been intelligence in those amber eyes too when they flickered over to Kurt, looking him up and down. "I'm as like to get a fair trial as my friend David, with a jury bought and paid for by Thaddeus J. Plankerman," he'd said, smooth voice roughened with bitter amusement, "but to my understanding, we'll be going on the same train. Reckon I'll have to pay you a visit."

"See, he's not so scary without his guns," Uncle Thaddeus had said to Kurt as two men had dragged the outlaw onto the train, more to mock Anderson than anything. Kurt wasn't so sure.

He still wasn't sure, but he went back to his novel. This one was about a handsome sheriff from some small town Kurt had never heard of who saved the townfolk from murdering bandits and swept the school teacher off her feet. Kurt knew the novels were meant for girls to read and his uncle didn't like that he enjoyed them, but his uncle didn't seem to like much about Kurt. And he really did like to read about the brave heroes and sweet romances, as well as some of the more scandalous tales of the lives of bandits. The novels about Blaine Anderson said he left ten ladies with newly broken hearts in every town he passed through. For someone who'd seen and done so little, it all seemed so exciting and forbidden to Kurt. The wail of the train pierced his ears steadily, and his uncle's man, Mr. Colton, shifted uneasily in his seat, peeking out the window now and then.

He'd become lost in the world of his story again when something rocked the train, spilling his uncle's coffee on the floor and making Kurt jump to his feet and then fall back on the couch as the train jolted and started to grind to a halt. He heard explosive noises and yells and he swallowed fearfully.

"What the hell was that?" Uncle Thaddeus exclaimed.

Mr. Colton looked out the window again, his face paling. "Revenge has come a knocking," he said, rushing to the compartment door and wrenching it open, shouting to his officers to get on the roof of the train even as it came to a complete standstill.

"What's happening?!" He said, his voice high and scared.

"I only see four riders!" Uncle Thaddeus proclaimed, annoyed.

"Move, move!" Colton yelled, pulling on Uncle Thaddeus's sleeve and grabbing Kurt by the collar of his lovely woollen frockcoat. "Don't be a fool, Plankerman; help me get the boy out of here!"

Uncle Thaddeus hesitated, his dark eyes calculating, and then he followed after Mr. Colton, tugging Kurt along with him.


	2. Chapter 2

The details of his escape were a blur to Blaine. He remembered provoking one of the men tasked to guard him into approaching near enough to touch. The fool had kept a gun hidden at his ankle, while the rest were locked up in the train compartment so Blaine couldn't possibly get to them.

Colton's precautions were all for nothing and Blaine had wasted little time relieving the officer of his gun, shooting open the lock that held closed the little cage encasing the rest of the guns, and getting up on the roof. The wails of the train's whistle did well to drown out the gunshots he exchanged with the men on the locomotive, and when he reached the roof, he had just enough time to shoot the chain binding his hands together before he found himself surrounded on either side.

That was when the train was hit and he struggled to stay on his feet, while the crowds of men around him stumbled against each other and fell. Some managed to stay on the roof while others screamed as they tumbled off the train. As the train screeched to a stop, the remaining officers opened fire and Blaine ran at one group, bullets whizzing in his ears. He knew it was only a miracle he was still alive at this point, but he couldn't last much longer. Colton had more men on board the train than he had thought. He dove at the group and fought his way through as more scrambled onto the roof.

But then there were gunshots from down below, and Blaine saw four riders alongside the train, taking out men left and right. He grinned in disbelief at the sight of Wes, mouth and nose covered with a kerchief, David, hat lost, Jeff, golden hair peeking out from under his cap, and Nick, lucky rabbit's foot hanging out of his pocket.

More riders rushed the train, emerging from the forest on either side and Blaine could see up ahead, one lone man stood beside a canon, which must've been what hit the train and made it stop. Hope flared in his chest, and he began to rush to the back of the train on instinct. He had unfinished business to attend to.

Shots rang out everywhere and Blaine fired now and then, just enough to clear the way, aiming for legs as best he could and knocking men out of his path with his body when he could instead.

He reached the caboose just in time to see three fancy dressed men emerge from it. His eyes narrowed as he took in Colton, out first, Plankerman second, and the young fair-skinned man travelling with them. He jumped, soaring through the air, arms and legs spread wide, and landed on Colton, knocking him down and making them both roll.

Colton reached for his holster but Blaine already had his gun pointed at his face. Blaine smirked and gave him a little shrug. The both of them always knew they would meet again like this, after their game of cat and mouse for the last few years. They'd both gotten their licks in before. Blaine was the reason Colton walked with a limp and Colton was to blame for the nasty scar over Blaine's ribs on his right side. Blaine would've found some way off this train before Washington and a noose around his neck, or died trying.

Colton looked at him wide-eyed, dread creeping over his expression to replace the initial shock.

"Don't look so surprised, Colton," Blaine mocked, eyes flicking quickly to Plankerman and his companion.

"Just do it, then," Colton said bitterly, "shoot me."

"I got some bigger bulls to wrangle," Blaine told him with a nasty grin, moving his gun to aim at Plankerton's chest. The younger man gasped.

"Don't do it, Anderson," Colton said, "you kill him, and they'll send the army after you."

"And what's left of your family," Plankerman threatened, and Blaine gritted his teeth. He saw Colton move out of the corner of his eye and turned, ducking his fist just in time to crack the man on the back of his skull with the butt of the gun. Colton crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Blaine turned back to Plankerton, who looked more alarmed now that his protector was incapacitated.

"I know you're a simple man," Plankerman said, unable to keep a sneer out of his voice despite the danger he was in, "but use your head and think."

Blaine thought. His eyes caught the glint of Plankerman's pocketwatch and he pointed at it. "Give me that."

Plankerman hastily handed it over. Blaine glanced over the gold piece, carved with initials that didn't belong to Plankerman. "It's a fine watch," he said, "let it serve as a reminder to you that if I can get you today, I can get you any day I want."

He made to throw it in the air and shoot it into a thousand pieces, but an urgent voice made him pause.

"Please, no!"

It was the boy beside Plankerman, his voice high and scared. Blaine looked at him. He now had his hands over his mouth, like he was surprised he had spoken. Blaine saw Plankerman's eyes widen as he glanced over at his companion.

Blaine pocketed the watch and then pointed the gun at the younger man. "Come here."

The boy's pale face went even paler. "I-"

"Go to him," Plankerman hissed, and the young man stuttered out a breath, taking a step forward. Blaine reached out with his free hand and pulled him to his side, wrapping an arm around him so the gun hovered on one side of his face, pointing away so as to not terrify him needlessly but show Plankerman who was in control.

"You want him back, you won't send the army for me," Blaine said, backing up, "you'll wait til you hear word, and if you cooperate, you'll get him back in one piece." The boy pressed against him shuddered and Blaine ignored the twinge of guilt in his gut. He heard the clip clop of horses trotting up and looked over to see Wes and David. They had a third horse with no rider.

"Wes," Blaine said, voice choked with emotion, "you're here."

"No time for tearful reunions now," his cousin said, "get on the horse and let's get going before Colton's men realize they outnumber us by too many."

With Wes and David's guns trained on Plankerman, Blaine emptied the rounds in Colton's gun and left it empty by his unconscious body. He swung up onto the horse, pulling the boy – the boy he had just kidnapped, Sweet Jesus – up in front of him.

"Remember, Plankerman, I can get you any day," Blaine said, as he kicked the horse's sides, "and if you want the boy back – "

"Don't follow," Plankerman said, looking far too easy about the situation, "I know what the point of a hostage is, Anderson."

"Quiet that mouth," Wes said fiercely, and Blaine knew his cousin was an inch away from ending the man's life.

"Come on," he said to his friends, and with that they sped away from the train, the other outlaws fleeing the scene all around them as well.

Blaine held the reins tight and tried not to focus on the young man sharing the saddle with him, tried not to focus on his hunched shoulders and bowed head, or the little hitched gasps of breath that said he was weeping.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt felt numb. He couldn't believe this was happening.

As Blaine Anderson had ridden away from Uncle Thaddeus and the train and any last chance of safety for Kurt, Kurt wedged in front of him in the saddle on a giant black horse, Kurt had hunched over, panicked and crying. He couldn't stop his tears and he tried to hide them, ashamed and terrified.

They had ridden some distance and stopped, only to be joined by more bandits. Scary men covered in dust and dirt and gunpowder, many with brims pulled down to hide their eyes or faded handkerchiefs covering their faces. Anderson had slid off the horse and reached up, gripping Kurt by the waist and pulling him down. Kurt avoided his eyes, heart in his throat.

Very quickly a man had come up and brought Anderson a duster that fell to his ankles, a hat, and two belts that slung low on his hips, each with a holster that was quickly filled with a loaded gun. Kurt gulped at the sight. Blaine Anderson was known to be a quick and deadly shot, one of the fastest gunslingers in the country.

All the men had quickly surrounded Anderson, patting his back and shaking his hand. Two men in particular held him fiercely, the one Anderson called "Wes," and a man with bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair, who had his arm in a sling.

Another bandit had suddenly gripped Kurt then, making him whimper in fear and pain at the tight grip on his wrists as the stranger began to bind his hands together with rough, scratching rope. Kurt winced but stayed still, not wanting to do anything to anger any of these men. He had no chance of escaping them all with his life.

It was then that Blaine Anderson had stepped up to them and said, "Leave him. You think I can't handle a gentle prince like this with his hands free?" He had squinted at the man tying Kurt's hands. "Who the hell are you?" His question was softened with a flash of white teeth against his dirt and whisker darkened face.

The one called Wes had come up. "Blaine, you been locked up and treated like shit for days. He may be a high-society brat but you can't trust those weasels. Tie up his hands just to make sure he ain't gonna get the slip on you. Unless you want him to ride with someone else."

The man tying Kurt's hands had finished a second knot with a particularly sharp tug and Kurt ducked his head to hide the pain on his face, biting his lip to keep from making any noise.

Anderson had sighed. "Fine. Let's get a move on," he raised his voice for everyone to hear, "I want to get settled down for the night as quick as we can."

"He wants someone bouncing on his cock as quick as he can," one man had shouted, and many of the men roared with laughter, "maybe the pretty little thing he brought with him from the train!"

Kurt had stiffened while Anderson muttered to Wes, "Who the fuck have you picked up to ride with since we went our separate ways?"

"Slim pickings when you're the Montgomery gang and not the Anderson gang," Wes had replied, voice tense, "let's get going." And so Anderson had climbed onto his horse again and pulled Kurt up in front of him once more. Kurt's trembling hands had gripped the front of the saddle, knuckles white, and he had tried to ignore Anderon's body pressed all along his back as the group of outlaws began to ride.

That had been some time ago. How much, Kurt didn't know. But the sun was beginning to set, and he could see the shape of a town in the distance. His stomach filled with a feeling of dread. What could he expect of these rough men who evaded the law, who shot up trains and robbed banks? He felt hopelessly provincial and stupid for thinking his novels were exciting and romantic. Was he to be starved, beaten…raped? Killed? His uncle had not seemed very upset when Anderson had taken Kurt. Would he even want him back? He had always acted as though Kurt was a burden, a child he did not and could not understand. But he wasn't so cold as to do nothing to ensure his safety and survival. Was he?

When they arrived in the little town, the riders quickly found a tavern and what looked to be a house of ill-repute, to Kurt's horror. They hooted and hollered, running into the buildings, picking up women and twirling them around, throwing them over their shoulders and carting them off to who knows where to do who knows what.

Anderson didn't rush inside, but took his time finding a place for his horse. He jumped down and reached up. This time Kurt needed his assistance to reach the ground, as his hands were still tied. But Anderson quickly undid the rope that bound Kurt's wrists and Kurt's lip trembled as he fought not to cry at the sting on his skin, which was an angry red where the rope had been.

"I got you a room," a blond man with a rabbit's foot sticking out of his vest pocket said, "Cooper's already laid up for the night. He's got to get his rest. But you can talk at breakfast."

Anderson frowned but nodded.

"I didn't know what to do about this one," the blond man said hesitantly, nodding at Kurt.

"It's fine. He can stay with me."

Kurt closed his eyes, pressing his lips together to keep from trembling.

"Blaine…you know who he is right?"

"I figured it out."

"Then maybe it's not a good idea. You hate-"

"It's fine," Anderson said again firmly, and the blond man fell silent. He glanced at Kurt again and then nodded, handing Anderson a slip of paper before walking away.

"Come on, then," Anderson said gruffly, grabbing Kurt's hand and leading him inside the tavern. Kurt kept his head down, trying to block out the whistles and catcalls and Anderson's responses to the men to shut their mouths as he was led up the stairs.

Anderson led him into a small room with a bed, a wooden chair and a small wooden desk with an oil lamp flickering on it and shut the door behind them, cutting off some of the loud noise from below.

Kurt hugged his middle tightly. He could hear banging and grunts and groans from the other rooms. He could hear a woman's voice shouting "Yes! Yes! Yes!" His cheeks flamed red because maybe he was naïve but he wasn't so ignorant that he didn't know what was going on in the other rooms. He looked at Anderson cautiously, who was shrugging out of his duster, leaving him in his black shirt rolled up to the elbows and brown suspenders holding up his dark grey trousers. Kurt eyed the guns slung low on his hips anxiously as Anderson turned around to face him.

Those golden eyes met his and Kurt's control slipped.

"What are you going to do to me?" He said quietly with a tremor in his voice. He took a step back without thinking and hugged his arms.

"You heard me before," Anderson said, crossing his arms over his chest, "as long as your uncle does what I say, I'll return you to him."

That wasn't comforting at all. So many things could happen before then. And Kurt still had the dreadful feeling that his uncle wasn't too concerned about getting him back. Kurt blinked back tears and shifted awkwardly, glancing at the bed. A tear slipped down his cheek.

"You got no right to play the victim," Anderson said, glaring at him, "not after what you've allowed Plankerman to do."

"I-I don't know what you mean," Kurt said, confused and scared at the dark look the outlaw was giving him.

Anderson strode toward him quickly and Kurt backed up on instinct, flinching and ducking his head as he waited to be hit. Never in his life had anyone struck him. His schoolfellows had taunted him at times, but never had their bullying become violent, and he was a well-behaved student that never received physical discipline from his teachers.

But Anderson just stopped in front of him. He didn't raise a hand. He looked at him, considering, with a frown on his face, and Kurt forced himself to meet his eyes nervously.

"Let's get to bed," he finally said, stepping away from Kurt and working to undo the belts on his hips.

Kurt pulled the open ends of his coat closed over his throat. He couldn't make his feet move. Even if he could, he didn't know where he would go. He didn't want to get on the bed. His hands shook.

The belts came off and the bandit looked at him again as he set his guns down on the table.


	4. Chapter 4

Anderson looked at Kurt and then looked around the room.

"This not good enough for you? You need a fancy wardrobe and silk sheets to sleep at night?"

Kurt's face heated up and he gritted his teeth at the insult. "No," he said and there was a sharpness in his voice he didn't intend. He looked at the outlaw, worried he had given too much cheek and had provoked him.

Anderson put his hands on his hips. "Then what the hell's taking you so long?"

Kurt gulped and he raised his hands to the highest button on his coat. He couldn't believe any of this was happening. That he had been kidnapped, that he was here in this tavern room with an escaped criminal and the most wanted man in the state. That Blaine Anderson was expecting him to do…that.

He didn't even know he liked men in that way.

Kurt's fingers shook as he undid the first button. Anderson was leaning against the desk, pulling off his boots, but he kept his eyes on Kurt.

Kurt bit his lip as he started to fumble with the next button, and then the next, until they were all undone and he shrugged the coat off. His cheeks burned with Anderson's gaze on him as he reached for the buttons of his vest.

Then he stopped.

"Please," he said quietly, "please don't make me do this." His voice was soft and steady, but a tear slipped down his cheek. Anderson stopped unlacing his boot and stared at him. "I've never…been with anyone. Please don't make me."

Anderson swore, making Kurt cringe. He toed off his boot and walked back over to him in his socks. Kurt nodded hastily and his trembling fingers tried to make quick work of the buttons on his vest. If he was being forced to do this, he could at least try not to anger the outlaw any more, and maybe he wouldn't be overly rough with him.

But rough hands took his wrists and pulled them away from his vest. "You can sleep in that if you want," Anderson said, and his face had lost some of the hardness and darkness from his earlier expressions. "When I said get to bed, I meant get to sleep. Nothing else."

"O-oh," Kurt breathed, face going red. He lowered his eyes, embarrassed.

Anderson moved away from him. "I know you've probably been taught that me and my gang are all animals, but we're men just like you. I may not have any fancy clothes and I may not have gone to some fancy city school, but I ain't a monster."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said cautiously, hoping he hadn't angered him. He hadn't been taught all that much about the Anderson gang, actually. Most of what he knew was from his dime novels.

Anderson turned to face him again. "Don't apologize for being scared. I did kidnap you, when all's said and done. But I'd take no pleasure from forcing someone into bed."

"It's just that…those other men…they said…" Kurt tried to explain but he blushed at the thought of uttering those comments the bandits had made.

Anderson let out a huff. "I don't know those men. They ain't my gang. They ain't my people."

Kurt nodded, and relief washed over him. In this one way, at least, he was safe.

"Now that we got that out of the way," the outlaw said, "I'm dead tired. Haven't had a good night's sleep in days. Prison cells are not comfortable by any means."

Kurt draped his coat on the floor and began to lower himself down onto it too.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm…I'm going to sleep?" He said, looking up at Anderson. He saw something flash in the outlaw's eyes.

"Not on the floor you're not. I'll keep my hands to myself, but you're bunking with me, Kurt Hummel." Kurt started at the sound of his own name in Anderson's voice. "Got to keep you close by, make sure you don't shoot me in my sleep, after all."

Kurt's eyes widened. "I-I wouldn't do that-" He started, but stopped when Anderson glanced at him with a grin. It was a joke, the first time Kurt felt the man didn't despise him entirely. And he couldn't help but notice what a beautiful smile he had.

Kurt went over to the bed and hesitated before taking off his vest and boots and crawling under the covers. He gripped the blankets tight and kept his eyes squeezed shut. He heard Anderson shrug out of his suspenders and pull off his shirt. The glow of the oil lamp faded behind his eyelids and then he felt the outlaw slide under the covers next to him.

Neither of them said anything and Kurt lay there, stiff as a board. Never in his wildest imaginings had he envisioned his first time sharing a bed with a man to be like this. When he finally fell asleep, it was as he wondered if Blaine Anderson was still awake beside him.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine woke up in a very nice situation. He was sleeping on a firm mattress, and a beautiful man with chestnut hair, creamy skin, and delicate features was cuddled up to him, sleeping soundly with his head on Blaine's chest. His hand rested on the young man's back, and he could feel the lean muscles there.

A real good way to wake up, indeed.

Then he remembered everything that had happened the past few days. Colton's men finally catching him and locking him up (just when he was going to retire, too), being put on the train headed to Washington, where he'd be tried and hanged, making his escape, with the help of Wes and the rest of the gang, as well as the men Wes had added to his own gang since their falling out, kidnapping Kurt Hummel, who stood to inherit the Plankerman fortune through his mother's side, whose uncle was responsible for the suffering of decent folk all over the state, the man responsible for the death of Blaine's own loving mother.

But even with that all rushing back to him, he didn't push Kurt Hummel away in disgust as he might have before last night. He watched his captive sleep, looking even more young and innocent like this, with his eyes closed and his face vulnerable. His hair had been styled fancy yesterday, sweeping up off his forehead, but now his bangs fell down, almost covering his eyes. Blaine knew he should hate this boy, but he couldn't bring himself to. Because he remembered how scared Kurt had looked the night before, when he thought Blaine would...Blaine didn't even want to think about it. Maybe he should've felt more insulted, but he thought about it and reckoned that if he were in Kurt's place, he'd have similar fears. Especially when the idiots Wes was riding with these days shouted out such stupid things, making them all look like rough animals in this pampered gentleman's eyes.

The more he thought about it, the more Blaine wondered just how much Kurt was aware of. After all, even though he was heir, he was young, and Blaine had never seen him with Colton or Plankerman before. How much did he knew about what his uncle had been doing, how much had been kept hidden from him? Blaine supposed he'd have time to find out, given that it would take a while to make the arrangements for the ransom.

And hell if that wasn't a thing. He'd kidnapped someone and was demanding ransom for his safe return. It just wasn't how Blaine Anderson did things. No one could say he was a law-abiding man at this point, but he still had his morals. But he'd been too desperate at the time, and now he was stuck with the consequences.

Looking down at Kurt, he figured the best thing to do was make sure no harm came to the young man, in every sense of the word. Until he got more information, he'd just assume innocent until proven guilty - it was in Blaine to believe in the best in people, fancy gentlemen like Kurt Hummel included. It was why he didn't kill Colton when he had the chance. And it was why he'd do his best to make sure that Kurt was safe and knew he had nothing to fear, especially being violated. He couldn't bear to remember the look in the boy's eyes last night, the tremble of his fingers as he'd tried to undo the buttons on his vest. Blaine didn't ever want to make somebody feel that way again, even an enemy.

Jeff burst into the room, making Kurt startle awake with a gasp. "Blaine! I - oh, shit." Jeff's eyes widened as he stared at Kurt and Blaine in the bed together. He gave Blaine a surprised, disturbed look, and Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Get out, Jeff, and learn how to knock. I'll be down soon."

Kurt was already out of bed and pulling his outer layers back on, avoiding Blaine's eyes. Blaine followed suit, feeling a little awkward, knowing in Kurt's eyes, he was a criminal, a kidnapper, and a would-be rapist. And he felt more awkward, realizing that it mattered to him for some reason what the young man thought.

"I'm going down to meet with my gang and discuss what our next moves are, including getting you back to your uncle."

Kurt nodded. "Are you going to tie me up again? Will-will I be able to have something to eat?"

He looked like he thought Blaine might strike him just for asking the questions, making Blaine feel guilty. "You ain't gonna try to run, are you?" Kurt shook his head. "Then I don't need to tie you up. And yeah, I'll bring you some breakfast if you stay in this room while I go have my meeting."

Kurt's cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Thank you," he said quietly, frowning like he was confused about why he was saying it. Blaine could understand. He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

"Those are some fine manners you got there, Kurt Hummel. I appreciate that you'd show them my way even though I'm holding you for ransom."

Kurt's lips quirked up and he met Blaine's eyes briefly.

Blaine cleared his throat, trying not to be distracted by that smile. "We'll talk more about this situation when I come back."

"What am I to do til then?" Kurt asked, looking surprised at his own daring.

Blaine hummed. This was the room he usually stayed in at this particular place, and he knew it well. He crossed the room over to Kurt, who looked at him nervously, but then crouched to pry up a loose floor board, pulling out the small novel he had hidden underneath.

"You like to read?"


End file.
